Ecclesiastes Now

Ecclesiastes Now

And with the wind, a lost fixation
almost drawn unto my breast
will dress upon its memory
a self-inflicted pain to cling to--
a shred of life preserved in crystal
as unknown potential, seen
with that unseeing eye
embracing grief as nourishment
and resolute as death.

And with the wind, defining too
will cling to sadness, letting go
of source to cherish an emotion
needed, vague as Renoir's retina
to score humanity. A world set right
is wrong; pursuit of vanity the light
that shines upon another face of God.
~

Stability

Stability

The rippling sun completed its catastasis
upon the earth and spread the sky with denouement,
a pastel commentary on the vesper light to follow
as it sings of rest,
of hope,
of an expectant peace intruding
on a still relentless mind.

It is of such we celebrate
the paradox of life and death,
the orgiastic feast ensuing
as the meek presume
in their own arrogance to claim
supremacy, the centaur's beating hooves
caught stumbling
at the onslaught of the night.

It is a peace eviscerated by romance;
the centaur knows--is helpless
as the vespers close,
when mind and hoof are quartered
in a stall together, shaped to a reflection
of their vanity, their alien heritage
in combat as they dream,
their peace an insane hovering
until the lust of day.
~